Animal, Chemical, Fatal
by ThingsHopedFor
Summary: "All you want is Luke and a happy ending, but you can't have both." / Percy starts sleeping with Luke when he's fourteen, and somewhere along the way, they fall in love. Lukercy.


**AN: Yeah, I am feeling things. *weeps* Ugh. My Lukercy feels have, once again, gotten the best of me. So you lovely people get this little oneshot. Enjoy :P**

**Warnings: Slash. Luke/Percy. If you're not into that, there's a nifty little back button at the top left of your computer that you can use to not read this fic. You see how that works? Yeah. Also, language, as per usual, because I'm a bit of a potty mouth (deal with it) and I have my own personal headcannon in which Percy swears like a sailor because his dad is the god of the sea, and sailors and the sea, and yeah. Don't judge me.**

**Disclaimer: Not Riordan, guys. I know you thought I was, but I'm not. *shrug***

**-THF**

* * *

_Animal._

_Chemical._

_Fatal._

They're all words you've heard people use to describe relationships like yours and Luke's.

When this was just getting started, when you and Luke would get off in sleazy hotel rooms and you'd have bruises on your hips for days after, you told yourself that this relationship was sane.

Wrong, maybe, but sane.

Back then, it was just sex-rough, unforgiving sex that left you sore and weak and dizzy, and Luke was always gone when you woke up the next morning to pull yourself back together and get back to Camp Half-Blood before anyone else woke up.

It's funny, because you never pegged yourself as a traitor, but that's a word that you know would be tossed at you if word ever got out that you were fucking the enemy.

When you look at Luke now, when you're face to face in battle, it's hard not to kiss him. It's hard to not nip at his neck, to not press your body against his and grind your hips together to create such delicious friction that he can't help but bend you over the nearest available surface and have his wicked way with you.

You tell yourself it's still just lust, just physical attraction, but you can feel the tug in your gut whenever he's injured. You want to run to his side, to protect him, to fight proudly by his side.

But you don't want to be on Kronos' side. You want Luke to be on your side. And that's the whole problem, isn't it? You and Luke are on opposing sides in an oncoming war that's supposed to be the greatest of this millennia, but you don't want to be. You want to always be on his side-as long as his side is the side you're on right now.

Fuck, you think. _That's so selfish_.

Except in relationships like these, selfishness is excepted, normal, _expected_. You can be selfish all you want, and Luke won't give a damn. Because whatever you think, you'll never ask him to join you. You'll never ask him to join the gods. You'll never ask him to give up what he believes is best.

So maybe you're not selfish at all. You only want Luke to be happy. You'd give anything if he could be happy fighting by your side, for the good of things, but he isn't. His place is with Kronos, and yours is with the gods, and that's the way it's always been.

That's the way it'll always be.

When Luke crashes his lips against yours the next time you see each other, you feel a pang of regret, and you want to tell him no, stop-_we can't keep doing this, it's wrong, we're on opposing sides of a war_-but you say nothing, and when Luke takes you that night, it's rough and sweet, fierce and tender, and it leaves you shaking.

When he thinks you've fallen asleep, he kisses your forehead and whispers three words that you never really forget, and then he's gone.

You feel like shit for the rest of the day, and the campers give you a wide berth. Annabeth teases you about not getting enough sleep the night before, and you can only look at her, because nothing is right, and if you ever had a chance to convert Luke to your side, that moment was it, and maybe you should be a little more selfish, because all you want is Luke _and _a happy ending, but you can't have both.

* * *

You don't see Luke again after that night. He never visits your cabin to drop off notes telling you where to meet him, he doesn't except your IMs, he doesn't contact you at all. You're spiraling downwards, but you put on a brave face because if anyone knew what was going on between you and Luke, you don't know what would happen to you, but you know it wouldn't be good.

Something inside you breaks, and you smash your fist against the wall, and when the blood springs up in little beads on your knuckles, you hit the wall again, and again, and again, and you can't stop, and there's blood smearing on the walls and you're shaking and the only thing that's going to make you feel better is Luke, and he's the reason you feel this shitty to begin with.

When you finally fall asleep, your dreams are plagued by images of Luke in agony, begging to be set free. You can't help him, and in the morning, when Annabeth asks if you're okay, because you look awful, you shake your head once.

You don't tell anyone about the dreams.

* * *

When you swim the River Styx, Annabeth is your mortal point-Annabeth is what keeps you grounded.

A small part of you feels awful that it isn't Luke, but when you think about Luke, you're anything but grounded. You're a whirlwind of feelings you don't understand. Hatred and lust and attraction and it's animal, it's chemical, it's fatal, and you're fucking in love with him, and gods, why didn't you take the only chance you'll ever have to tell him that one night so many long ago when he whispered those three words against your hot, sweaty skin?

* * *

When Luke uses the cursed blade, you almost yell at him to stop-to not sacrifice himself to end this war. But you don't see an alternative, and the prophecy is falling into place, and it sucks.

You can't speak, at first, and then he's talking to Annabeth, and he's asking her if she loved him, and you don't understand. Why isn't Luke asking you this question? Doesn't he care if you love him?

You can't move, you can't speak, and Annabeth is answering him but you just keep looking at Luke, and then his eyes drift past her to meet yours, and there's so much you want to say, and so much you can't get out, and then just like the last night you had him, he's gone, and you never get to say it back.

You never get to repeat back to him those three words. You never get to tell him you love him.

* * *

_Animal._

_Chemical._

_Fatal._

They're all words you've heard people use to describe relationships like yours and Luke's.

These days, you don't know how you ever could have mistaken your relationship with Luke to be anything else.


End file.
